“Everyone’s different,” says someone born in May
To the another whose birthday’s in June.
“But we all get a “hip hip hooray!”!”
“Every cake’s different,” say tastebuds to a spoon;
A stable table to some disposable plates
As they hear for the first time the table’s same tune.
“Every bite’s different,” say the plates in turn on the table.
“Every different bite’s bitten to a new beat on the first record
That plays when cake song’s sung and cake placement is stable.
The foreground to “the food of love” is to tape record.
The format of birthdays is repeated, results still differing for
Each year’s wish, released like a parachute pack by a ripcord.
Memories sweet, a joyful, bright affair,
Your show of laughter banishing all care,
Love surrounds you with gift beyond compare,
Elegant spirit shining ever near,
Now celebrate with happiness sincere,
Every good wish throughout this coming year.
©bfa031425
(Birthday of Mylene Asuncion)
I did write poems on each Rune.
The Frissian futhorc I assume,
Each new rune lesson learnt- a boon.
Art and poems I showed to kin.
Kin stated poems and art a win,
Rune poems writ came from within.
Ink drawings for each rune, I start.
Each drawing did was from the heart,
Art and poem don’t stand apart.
Runes chosen in a random way.
By meditative state I say,
Stick hand in sac, get one that day.
Relate the rune to the days hap.
Rune telling in sync that’s a rap,
Rune cite not in sync, isn’t crap.
Those months were a milestone to me.
Rune views can make you unhappy,
Either way their help uncanny .
My first attempt a great success.
Second push better, I confess.
Both achievements great ,I profess.
Apple spice winds fanning the flames
of campfire stories engorged with horror;
Fevered is the air filled with such games.
Drifting away on falling leaves
crackling colors paint the ground;
Art so poignant no one grieves.
Words cover me with a slow crawl
ageless fear explodes on my skin;
I am now left in awe falling for it all.
A backyard garden
planted with flowering perennials
so as not to seem deliberate
the green stalks swell
with anticipation
awaiting the creaking gate
of summer to open up
letting in, with a firm step,
the first orange flowers
Peaceful place
Enlighted with
The sweetness of the moon
Beautiful seabay
Immerged in a pretty
Sky tenderness
Beauteous scenery
Located behind
The cliff highness
Sumptuous frame
Implanted on a natural temple,
Happiness for idyllic strolls!
Light by such a night
Is a wonderful reflect of the full moon
Then, one of the lovely rules taken
From a sweet evening,
Should be...Peace, Light and Love!
©Rita Solis Radius. Sept 5th 2020. Short poems session about #PeaceLightLove.
Original texts. All rights reserved.
The nun is taking coke,
the pope is getting mad -
he told her not to choke.
Her habit's getting bad;
her doctor's even worse,
but drinking makes him sad.
He sped off in a hearse
and gambled quite a lot,
then stole a robber's purse.
Today is very hot,
the judge is getting tired -
he smoked a ton of pot.
I hear they're getting fired...
(Will get round to returning comments tomorrow)
just some nonsense for Nina's quirky tercets contest, written 8th April
Freedom at Mid-Night
Huge crowd of a small town, lighted lamps and fireworks
No electricity, the only battery radio of my town on stage
Airing the first freedom speech of *Nehru sparking thus:
India made a tryst with destiny with many brakes
Now the time has come to redeem our pledge
At mid-night hour the world sleeps, India wakes.
A moment comes, but comes rarely in history
When we step out from the old to the new age
As the soul of India, long subdued, finds victory.
+++++++
*A great freedom fighter and the first Prime Minister of India.
January 29, 2015
Form: Tercets
As a kid I was fascinated to the gold ring of my grandma,
I used to play with it when she would cuddle me in her lap
As I grew up, got more introvert sitting alone as if in trauma.
The reason was ardent desire to get admission in university
Though my father with little means was trying hard with hope
And to my surprise my father managed even in the adversity.
One day received urgent call from my father to come home
As I entered, saw grandma on the bed with her palm clap
With tears in eyes between her palms she took my palm.
She said:” When wind blows, bent down as do the plants”
I joined her, "Surrender, ride it, lift your head high still it stops”
I said, “Since you taught the refrains, they’re in my prayers”
She breathed her last before I could further say my words
Leaving blue sapphire ring- a symbolic message of hope
That Saturn is a good teacher but bad master for Libras.
+++++++
* The poem is in Tercet Form. But not available on PS. So I have listed it
as Rhyme.
April 19, 2014
Form: Tercet
First Place win
Contest: Embers of Time by Gal Angel
Journeys, Translation of Etiemble’s tercets: Voyages by T. Wignesan
For André Gâteau
(End rhyme scheme: aab, ccd, aab, eed in the original, the first and third tercets beginning
with “Pour vous…” and constituting one complex sentence each. One would do well to bear
in mind in this poem that Etiemble was the foremost authority on Arthur Rimbaud’s poetry.)
For you all over I laid out
my oases, all their date palms
in the tiresome desert without wells,
where the salts of nitrous valleys,
for you* only and your hollow hips
squeaked with the leaps of camel calves.
For you only I stretched out
the fine lace of the poplars
over the blue shirt of the nights
and scoured out of this bone
the winding sheet of dead stars
a place to lie as long as mine.
* “tu”: second person “you”.
© T. Wignesan – Paris, 2014
To the wings of our dove, there is rosy parity
Fated to meet when the light meets the dark
Between us there is a bridge of love of solidity
As excited, I reached the bridge with hilarity
Hovering above me were dark clouds, Hark!
My eyes fixed on the other side with sere anxiety.
Standing on middle of the bridge with vivacity
Over her hamlet saw the firework’s sparks
Celebrating a wedding with awesome gaiety.
For the moment I thought it to be in her dignity
Was ready to burn the bridge between us as a mark
But later on learn it wasn’t her wedding in reality.
It was a life’s lesson not to burn bridge in adversity
Who knows if you burn the bridge in haste and hark
You may have to cross it again in your diversity .
====================================
Date : 26-10-13
Dr. Ram Mehta
5th place win
Contest: Crossing that bridge by Deb Wilson
The ebb and flow of your life is in a constant state of flux.
While the “meat and potatoes” of a soul are at its’ core,
these sublimations are kept hidden deep inside.
They’re always under cover and kept hidden deep inside,
roiling your life with a tidal action to a constant state of flux,
while the “nitty grittys” of a soul are at its’ core.
The concept of souls are at its’ core.
Although souls are kept hidden deep inside,
they percolate life to a constant state of flux.
Your life is in a constant state of flux because the soul is at its’ core, hidden deep inside.
For Andrea's contest
Looking for the formal definition, structure, and history of this poetry form? Visit the Poetry Dictionary entry below. Then return to explore how PoetrySoup members bring the form to life through their own poems.